


Pragmatic

by FenHarelMaGhilana (WhitethornWolf)



Series: Fortune Favour Me [8]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:51:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/FenHarelMaGhilana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eilin makes the hard decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pragmatic

_“Absolutely not!”_

 

Alistair’s tankard hit the table with a thud loud enough to make several of the inn’s patrons stare.

 

“By all means, make your voice heard,” Morrigan said slowly, as if she were talking to a child. “There may have been dwarves in Dust Town that did not hear you.”

 

Alistair let go of the tankard and splayed his hands on the table instead, his brows knitting together. He and Morrigan were sometimes easier to read than a book — Morrigan’s mouth thinned whenever she so much as looked at him, and Alistair scowled so much his eyes almost disappeared under his eyebrows.

Eilin raised her hand, cutting off his angry retort. “Morrigan’s right. Keep your voice down, we don’t need to draw any more attention to ourselves.”

 

“Tell me you’re joking,” he said in an angry whisper.  _“_ _Please.”_

 

“I’m not joking,” Eilin said, sharper than she meant to; the smell of the dwarven ale gave her a headache and the smoky tavern air wasn’t helping. That, and the constant background noise of dusters caterwauling some song about a magical nug of all things.

She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “This trip to the Deep Roads might take us weeks, and that’s time we don’t have. Not to mention that some of us may not return at all. For now we’re somewhat safe in Orzammar, but we can’t stay here forever.”

 

Morrigan raised one eyebrow. “Safe, you say?” Her free hand tapped a steady tattoo on the rough wood table. “This dwarven King of yours lets us be because we are useful to him. You know this, I hope.”

 

“I’m aware,” Eilin said shortly. “For now we’re not bothered by Loghain’s men, and if the price to pay for a little more peace of mind is a few Harrowmont supporters, well…I’m sure we can handle it.”

 

“It seems a sound idea,” Wynne said thoughtfully, and took a sip from her clay mug. “Am I to assume I will be accompanying you to the Deep Roads?”

 

“I am going to the Deep Roads, yes,” Eilin said, “but Morrigan, Shale and Zevran will be accompanying me. You, Sten and Leliana will be seeking out the Dalish.”

 

Wynne gave a small, almost imperceptible nod of approval, and Eilin sat back in her chair,

 

“What?” Alistair said, suddenly and quietly. She’d turned away from him to talk to Wynne, but she heard the surprise in his voice and knew his expression would match it. He was never very good at hiding his emotions. “ _Me?_ _Lead?_  No, no, no. No leading. Bad things happen when I lead.”

 

Eilin raised an eyebrow, and let the silence stretch for long enough to become uncomfortable.

 

“Do you refuse?” she asked finally.

 

“I—I’m not, I just…we were —”

 

“It sounded like a refusal to me.”

 

“I think that is something best discussed between you two,” Wynne said, as Alistair’s frown deepened. “Why don’t you two take a walk?”

 

Some small, contrary part of her mind wanted to refuse, to have it out with him in front of their group. But how childish was that? It would accomplish nothing but make what little authority she had even more tenuous. Wynne had a knack for gauging the situation, and it wasn’t the first time her advice had gotten Eilin out of a tight spot. So she stood, sighing, and gestured for Alistair to follow.

 

The entire city was always lit by the dull glow coming off the river of lava hundreds of feet below the walkways. It was impossible to tell the time, for one used to sleeping under the stars. The water clock in the middle of the commons was beyond her comprehension, but logically she knew it was evening — the streets were empty and the taverns full, and the light only reached so far.

 

Eilin marched across the street without checking if he followed her, stopping near an empty market stall, and turned to face him. “Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

 

He looked flushed, but that was hardly a surprise. He’d had at least half a tankard.

 

“What do you think?” he snapped. “I thought we were both going to the Deep Roads. Or I assumed we all would be going together. And then you go and…spring that on me, how was I supposed to react?”

 

“We’ve wasted too much time here already,” Eilin replied, shaking her head. “We’ve been here over a week playing dwarven politics, while the Blight’s getting worse. Who knows how far it’s spread now? And at any rate, it makes no sense for all of us to —”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. What about the fact that the Deep Roads are  _crawling with darkspawn?_ Did you ever consider that?”

 

She usually found his sarcastic tone amusing, even when directed at her, but with the size of her headache even the sweetest tones ground on her nerves. Swallowing her temper, she fixed him with a heated glare.

 

“I am trying to make a practical decision, Alistair. I’m supposed to do what’s best for everyone. I don’t want to risk the lives of our entire party on a venture that may not even be worth the trouble.”

 

“Risk all our lives, or just mine?”

 

“All of our lives. But,” she added softly, “I can’t say that you and your — you know — didn’t affect my decision.”

 

“Why?” Alistair said incredulously. “Why would you do that to me? You know how people treat me — my whole life, it’s caused me nothing but problems. You know that.”

 

“I did it because even if you don’t end up being king, you are still more important than me in the scheme of things.” Eilin jabbed a finger at his chest for emphasis. “Alistair, you can’t get away from your blood, so it’s useless to try. You also know you need to be prepared for the possibility of being the heir to the throne. Even if you don’t want it,” she added, raising a hand as he made an indignant sound. “ _Even if you never become king_ _,_  you are still a Grey Warden, and Ferelden needs its Grey Wardens and its kings.”

 

“But I — “

 

“Do you want to end this Blight, or not?”

 

“Yes,” he said, quietly.

 

“And what if something goes wrong in the Deep Roads, and both of us die? Who’s going to fight the darkspawn then, hm? I suppose the entire country can wait for the Orlesians to realise we’ve gone silent. What’s a few thousand more deaths?” When he said nothing, she drew closer.  _“We_ _don’t have the time.”_

 

She’d been expecting the anger in his expression, and the disappointment soon after. But he suddenly pulled her to him, all but crushing her in a rather painful embrace, leather and splintmail scraping together with an unpleasant sound.

 

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said into her hair.

 

Eilin closed her eyes, her cheek pressed against his, and sighed. There it was. That was the part she’d been trying to avoid thinking about, for fear it would influence her decision.

How easy it would be to say yes. One word and he would walk into the darkest places by her side, she knew he would, and she knew he would not stop him. And that was the problem.

Leaders think of those they’re responsible for first. That was the way Father taught her, and that was the way it had to be.

 

“I’ll be fine,” she said softly. She could tell he didn’t really believe her — even when her lips touched his, unmindful of the curious stares of passersby. “We’ll both be fine. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can meet up again.”

 

Sighing, Alistair rubbed both hands over his face, sending his short hair askew.

“Fine,” he muttered. “On one condition.” When she said nothing, he took her by the shoulders. “Never tell me that you’re not as important as I am.  _Alright?_ ”

 

“But I’m n—”

 

“You keep all of us going,” he insisted. “You keep me going, and you make me…” he paused, brow furrowing. “You make me…uh..”

 

“Angry?” she suggested with a grin.

 

“Well, yes. Sometimes. Alright, alright, I’m only joking,” he added hastily, as she gave him a withering look. “You make me stronger, and you know I love you for it. I just wish that we’d —” he stopped suddenly, and rubbed the back of his neck again. “That we’d had the chance to — “

 

“To…what?” she asked, puzzled. “We still have some time before tomorrow, so go ahead and do whatever you need to.”

 

“Uh, right. I’ll do that.”

 

 _I have a feeling I’m missing something_ , she thought, casting him a furtive glance as he headed back to the tavern. He’d seemed more hesitant than usual for a moment, like he wanted to ask her something important…

 

“Enjoy your fungus drink,” she called out from across the street, and received a grimace in return.

 

“Oh, you just had to remind me, didn’t you? Great. Thanks.”

 

Eilin watched him until he disappeared inside the tavern. For a moment she longed to go back inside and join the rest of her companions; drinking, conversation, maybe even just sitting with him for a while…but she knew it was getting late, and there was a lot to do.

 _Always duty, if nothing else_ , she reminded herself, and headed for the Royal Palace.


End file.
